


Day 7:AU

by Valedoceanlover



Series: dicktigerweek2020 [7]
Category: Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Dick Grayson is Not Adopted, Gen, Stalker Dick Grayson, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, The Flying Graysons weren’t murdered, late to the party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valedoceanlover/pseuds/Valedoceanlover
Summary: It's the zombie apocalypse.
Series: dicktigerweek2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642267
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Day 7:AU

It feels as though years have passed since the outbreak started, but I doubt any one has cared enough to keep track, I know I haven’t. 

The news down played it, just a few cases of a new virus, nothing to be concerned about. Even as the infected started dying they still placated the masses. I don’t recall ever seeing a report that the infected didn’t stay dead. 

Riots and attacks at hospitals and quarantine zones were covered, but the details were always vague, even as they became more numerous the media still pushed that there was nothing to be afraid of. 

I believed them, I was too busy to look more into the reports, even as shows were cancelled and the circus started skipping entire stops. The shows that weren’t the audience numbers were starting to dwindle and we were all starting to worry about the lack of money we were making. Pop’s issued medical masks and gloves to be worn at all times, except when we were doing a show. Some of the performers and crew were talking about jumping ship, find employment else ware. Others like my family were devoting our spare time to figure out something that would draw the crowds back, because Haly’s Circus was all we knew. The idea of becoming one of the masses, Mr. or Ms. 9-5 was absolutely terrifying, more so than our pay checks dwindling. 

We hoped that if we could just come up with something amazing, the crowds would come back. It’s happened in the past; the circus is persistent and adaptable, we just had to push through the tough times and we’d be smooth sailing again. 

Hope kept us going, until reality crashed down upon us. 

We were in the middle of a show, my families act was going almost perfectly, uncle Richard had a slight fever, and it was making him slow, but we were still dazzling and the audience we had managed to get were enthralled. 

Then the side of the tent ripped open followed by screams, I chanced a look but couldn’t make out clearly what was happening from this far up. I turned my attention back to my parents who were going to be tossed to me, but they were already in the air. That split second was all it took, I was out of position. I wouldn’t be able to catch them in time, I reached as far as I could hoping but my mother’s fingertips grazed my own and then they were falling. Time felt too fast and excruciatingly slow at the same time. Their bodies hit the ground with a sickening crunch, blood pooling under them, my eyes still locked on my mother’s. I barely noticed the bodies that rushed from the audience to their fallen forms. Hope stuttered in my chest maybe they were still alive, maybe we could still get them to a hospital in time! It was dashed as the people, the ones who crashed through the tent, reached my parents bodies and tore into their flesh. 

I stared dumbfounded as my momentum on the trapezes I was currently hanging upside down from lessened. Suddenly screams broke through my conciseness, as well as the unmistakable scent of rot, and my eyes were drawn elsewhere in the tent. As audience members and ground crew alike were trying to flee, and many who were either to close to the new entrance or to slow were also being torn to shreds and… consumed. 

I can’t recall how I got off the trapeze, nor to my families train car but I can the terror on my uncles face as one of those things grabbed him in the cars entrance, as it drew blood and flesh from his form. Grabbing my father’s coat, and my duffel; always packed with the necessities ‘just in case’ my dad always said, and busting out a window on the opposite side of the train car. 

The last I saw of my home was it destroyed. Friends, coworkers and strangers alike were being torn apart. 

Whenever I thought I got far enough away those things would appear again bringing chaos and destruction. Town and city’s I managed to seek refuge in had less and less people until what greeted me in those once bustling city centers were nothing but those creatures. 

At first they concentrated in the cities but as time passed and their food became scarce many moved into the open looking for anything with a pulse. Their numbers in population centers are still terrifyingly high, but that’s where most supplies are. You just got to be quick, quiet and incredibly lucky for any trips inside one to pay off. I still feel slightly guilty as I raid homes for anything useful, I don’t dare to try stores, too many zombies for some place that was probably already picked clean. 

* * *

I’m in a two story suburban house, in a city whose name I didn’t bother to check. The family that lived here; husband, wife, and two daughters, judging from the various pictures on the walls and shelves, sure liked their pastels. I can’t tell if the walls were pink or beige through the dust but the white accents and tidiness makes it feel almost a world away from what’s happened outside. If I stayed long enough I could imagine how their day would go, what they would do as a family and apart. It’s one of the most well preserved homes I’ve been in, in a long time. I take my time looking around as I make a b-line to the pantry, its layout is familiar by now, all the other houses on the block have the exact same layout. 

The wooden pantry door slightly squeaks as it opens. Various cereal boxes and open chip bags greet me. The chips are inedible at this point, I check the cereals. Most are open but there are two that aren’t, I remove the sealed bags and stuff them into my duffel, I do the same with individually wrapped fruit and granola bars. On the bottom are a few rows of canned goods, well once upon a time they were. I only take the ones that don’t have dents. I don’t check the dates on anything. There is no point now, it all tastes terrible; molding, rotting or just plain stale. But I can’t afford to be picky, food is food even if I have to force myself to swallow, and hold it down when my body attempts to reject it, and my stomach and intestines feel as though there trying to escape my body. 

Pantry cleared out of anything useful I check the cupboards, nothing but dishes. I make my way to the downstairs bathroom, its… well it must have been the kids judging from the mess. It’s empty of anything salvageable, so I head to the one upstairs. In it I find an unopened tube of toothpaste and some bandages, and over the counter painkillers. 

There’s a clatter outside and I freeze. Slowly I crack the window open, the putrid scent of rot hits me and it takes everything I have not to retch on the floor. 

Listening reveals many individuals; a hoard must be wandering by and from the smell their close. I don’t risk closing the window. Slowly I place the supplies in my bag. 

There was a long cover on the parent’s bed, if the bed is raised off the ground enough I can hide under there till their past. Slowly and quietly as I can I creep into the vacant room and kneel by the bed, flipping the comforter up reveals enough room for me to squeeze under. I take off my duffel and push it under. A loud cacophony of distorted music and what must have once been a voice erupts from under the bed. 

My stomach drops and panic rushes through me. Pulling my bag out reveals a child’s toy, a loud motion activated one, that Is. Still. Making. Noise! 

There’s a crash from down stairs as one of the windows is broken. Fuck. Groaning follows and the smell gets so much stronger. Fuck. I pick up my bag and go to the window. Thankfully there’s an overhanging eave on the first story roof. Pushing the windows do nothing so I take out my tactical shovel and break the windows. I don’t care about the noise; they already know where I am. Climbing out I look to the surrounding area and count ten zombies, those plus the ones already in the house aren’t too bad. A lot, but not inescapable. 

The closest is a few meters away and facing the street. So I jump down. The shock buckles my legs for a moment, long enough for one I didn’t see under the overhang to almost reach me. I bat its arm away with the shovel and bash it in the side of its head. 

The one facing the street has turned around; staggering it’s coming at me. I use the blade of the shovel and aim for the neck, the head separates and I rush past it to the street. 

Holy Fuck. 

There’s so many more than ten, more like sixty. Some of them notice me. Fuck. I run to the back yard there’s a chain link fence between it and the forest, at least six feet high. 

I jump. I’m almost over it; I check the other side for my footing when I see them, zombies. Dozens of them in the clearing between the fence and the wood. There’s more in the shadows of the trees, weaving between the branches and shrubs. 

Despair hits me like a sack of bricks. I’m surrounded, by a giant hoard. More and more notice me. They start rushing in my direction. I drop off the fence; I have better luck with the ones on the street. They have funneled into the space between the houses I just came from. I run along the fence to the other side of the house it’s blocked two, but the side fence is shorter, and there’s no zombies on the other side. I’m over it in seconds and the others down the street; I keep looking to the road as I cross between houses looking for a clearing. The zombies from the forest have reached the fence to my right; it clangs loudly in protest of their attempts to get past it. 

Over the last fence and there’s a slight clearing, one I might make it through if I’m fast enough: diagonally through the intersection. 

My lungs are burning and the thunderous moans of the zombies drown out the pounding of my feet. I make it to the next row of houses but the zombies are on my heels, dozens in front of me still. I deflect those that try to grab me, precious seconds lost, I spot a cellar with outside doors. I race to reach it before the ones that are past it can block it off. 

I have to knock off some zombies before I get there. Thankfully the pad lock gives after the first strike of my shovel. I open it and my heart almost stops. The cellar is completely blocked off a few feet down. A hand grazes my back and I duck inside closing the doors behind me. I hold the inside handles closed for dear life when the zombies reach them. Clawing and bashing. The noise is deafening in the small cove. My hands strain, as I start shaking tears pouring down my face. 

This isn’t how I wanted to die, anyway but this. 

* * *

There are three short bangs against the wood. I open my eyes sure they were my imagination. I think they come again but it’s hard to hear over the pounding of my heart. I try to slow my breath; I take slow and deep breaths. It starts to work and I start to come back to my body, hands screaming and every muscle tight, slowly I realize there’s no clawing. It’s quiet outside the doors. But how is that possible? 

Three knocks. I think I hear someone speaking, but that’s impossible. Another three. I must be dead, hallucinating to distract my mind from what’s really happening. Three knocks, a voice distorted. Or maybe that’s the grim reaper come to take my soul. Knocks come again. A voice, it sounds like it has an accent. 

What have I got to loose. I’m dead no matter what. 

I force my hands to open and slowly remove them from the handles. They complain like they haven’t since I was first learning the trapeze. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

I push one of them open slightly. Suddenly there both wide open, the evening sun almost blinding. “You’re alive.” The voice is indeed accented, what I cannot place, and deep. My eyes adjust to the brightness and the first thing I notice are green eyes, so intense the pin me to the spot. Next is olive skin and a short black beard. 

“Yes.” I answer even though it wasn’t a question. He has three lines in the middle of his forehead, tattoos maybe and he’s wearing a yellow Hijab. 

“Are you injured?” 

“No?” I can’t feel anything past the cramping. He holds a knife to me. Oh, he’s wondering if he should kill me before I turn. I tighten and relax my muscles as much as I can and when no searing pain arises I say more confidently. “No.” 

He tucks the knife away and steps back from the door. 

Slowly I stand the stretching of my muscles both painful and a relief. I step out of the cellar leaving my duffel inside and notice the corpses completely dead littered about. “You killed them.” I comment in shock. 

“Some, most lost interest and moved on.” 

“Thank you!” Now that I’m out I can get a better look at him. His arms are muscular and from what little I can see from behind his t-shirt, bullet proof vest and cargo pants, so is the rest of him. He is also at least a foot taller than me. He smells; through the rot of the zombies, and the same case of BO that everyone has since the water system was turned off, faintly of Incense. All things considered he’s quite handsome. 

He starts to move away. “Uh, is there something I can do to repay you?” I ask. 

“No.” 

“I have supplies; you can have what you want.” 

“No.” He picks up some bags he must have dropped earlier. Looking at me as he does, his tone and eyes leave no room for argument. 

“Can I get my savior's name than?” He sighs. 

“Tiger.” 

“Seriously? It’s the end of the world and that’s the best you can come up with?” If glares could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Mines Dick Grayson!” I hold out my hand. His expression turns incredulous for a moment before pure annoyance takes over. 

“Goodbye.” He turns and begins to walk away. I think I catch him muttering something along the lines of how maybe he should have let them kill me. 

I fetch my bag and am about to head back to my camp when it really sinks in. I almost died, and Tiger saved me. I owe him, no matter what he said. How can I call myself a man if I don’t repay my debts? 

He wants nothing I have so…? I’ll follow him till I can figure something out. 

I contemplate going back to my camp but, he might be in the wind by the time I get back here. It’s not like anything back there isn’t easily replaceable. There is a reason I keep the most important things in my duffel. Eh, someone else can make use of it; it’s not worth the risk. 

Mind made up, I check to make sure nothing fell out of my duffel and wedge my shovel under the two blue bungee cords I added for things too large to fit inside of it. By now he’s far enough away he won’t notice me following unless he looks back. I keep to the shadows and behind building just to be safe. 

* * *

For the most part I just observe him and keep a look out for any danger he might miss. I think it’s been a few weeks now, and he still doesn’t know I’m following or at least I’m not bothering him enough for him to confront me about it. 

I’ve learned his preferences for where he scavenges; he’s not afraid of the stores as I am. What he takes, when he eats, sleeps and prays. Ya, prays, world went to hell and he prays five times a day. Sometimes I wonder what for, but I know I’ll never know. When boredom really sets in I try to imagine. 

* * *

I’m really getting the hang of predicting where he’s going to go and what his plans are for the day. 

* * *

He’s camped outside of a city tonight, prayers said and fire dimed, not extinguished the smell of the burning helps to disguise our scent. It’s almost a full moon tonight, with just a few clouds; the wind is slow with no traces of rot. I contemplate staying here, to keep an eye on him, but it’s a big city and he’ll spend all day tomorrow in there, the least I can do is to make it easier for him. 

I go through every building and ally meticulously, killing lone zombies as I come across them with either my sword or cross bow I picked up what feels like ages ago when tiger stopped by a weapons shop, when his were to damaged for his liking. 

As well as thinning out the stragglers I block off rooms and areas that have too many to deal with, trapping them inside and leaving a warning for Tiger at all possible entrances should he feel particularly persistent. 

Supplies I pick up as I go along, anything I know he prefers or will be looking for I stash in the first building he will likely look in. The less amount of time he spends in the cities the better. And I’ll keep what I need, but his supplies are the priority. 

Dew is starting to settle by the time I’m done, the sunrise is barley touching the sky. He will not be up till it’s above the horizon, and won’t head out till even later, so I’ll manage to catch some sleep. 

Once he’s in the city I keep close but still continue my work from the night before, with any luck we’ll be stocked up and back on the road before nightfall. 

* * *

The blistering summer turned to a chilly fall, the wind slicing through all layers. 

Turned to a snowy winter, if it wasn’t for the snow shoes we lifted I’d be up to my waist in it. Even so covering any distance was slow going and the amount of times I wanted to say; fuck it, and crawl into his sleeping bag to just be an infinitesimal amount warmer, were so numerous I lost track. 

Spring was a blessing as it chased away the snow, but the rains felt endless at times. Everything was wet and slippery. Flooding was a new challenge, for us anyway. The zombies were seemingly unaffected. 

People he generally didn’t have problems with, for the most part they immediately understood he was not somebody to mess with, the others… he had no problem dealing with on his own. 

* * *

We’re in the middle of a forest when it happens. 

Tiger caught a bug and was out for the count. His energy non-existent and hi fever far higher than I was comfortable with. Hallucinations had started to plague him and he showed no awareness to my presence. Even as I stopped keeping my distance: to take care of him. 

We were nowhere near a place that would have the medicine he needed, neither one of us grabbing some when we had the chance. I went to search for plants that might be in the area to help, using a ‘Plants and Medicine, everything you need to know’ book I grabbed from a library when I had some extra time. Ones on first aid; basic and advanced easily accessible in one of my duffel’s pockets. 

I’m not gone long when I feel I’ve collected enough plants and start heading back to camp when the winds shift carrying rot, overwhelmingly strong. Zombies or a dead animal: either way its close. My stomach drops, it’s coming from the direction of camp. I run the smells getting stronger and so is my panic, I burst past the last bush blocking my way. And there they are, three zombies almost on Tiger. Dropping my bag I pull out my sword. The first one’s head gives way easily, the slice clean through. I only manage to draw the attention of one the others, it lunges at me. I trip as I attempt to dodge it; it’s on top of my trying to bite my throat out. 

I try to shove it off of me but I’m not strong enough, I can barely hold its shoulders at arm’s reach. It claws at my arms and chest and I jerking look around for anything close by that might help. The sword having fallen from my hands in the commotion. 

There! I wrap my legs around it and force us to roll, I’m straddling it and have only the briefest of moments to grab the fair sized rock that’s now within reach and smash it into the zombie’s skull. I’m on my feet and pulling the last one off Tiger before my brain even finishes processing the squelch it made. 

I shove it as far away as I can buying me enough time to regain my sword. I slash. The sword embeds in its skull. Not a clean cut but enough damage to kill it. I let its falling body take the sword from my hands and dash to Tigers side; he’s breathing, and not missing any chunks. But there on his cheek is a cut that wasn’t there before. From tooth or nail I don’t know but terror grips me. Quickly I pour rubbing alcohol on the cut, hoping I’m not too late, that the alcohol will kill whatever pathogen these things spread. 

After a few minutes pass and no obvious signs of zombification, I’m too anxious to sit still. I build the fire back up; I shouldn’t have let it go out in the first place. Then I start boiling water in an old tin can for Tigers medicated tea. After removing my sword I drag the zombie corpses to a far enough distance that they shouldn’t attract any wild life to us. Lastly I check my father’s coat for any rips. I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s none. 

* * *

It’s not until Tigers on the mend and making shaky attempt to pack up his camp that I realize I’ve done it. This wasn’t something he could have gotten out of on his own. I have repaid my dept. I can leave. The realization brings no excitement or relief. If anything its sadness. 

For the last however long it’s been, I haven’t been alone, sure depending on the terrain a sizable distance has been between us, but still I’ve been waking up to a living breathing human being every day. A companion. An unknowing one, sure but still…

He’s not even done packing up by the time I decide I’m going to stay. Life would be empty without him nearby. 

* * *

Distance is slow going the next few weeks as the last of his illness refuses to be shaken off, and by the time we reach the next urban center, a city, were both desperate for supplies. 

He doesn’t so much as set up camp, more like just dumping his bags and starts to head in. I would prefer for him to give me some amount of time to scout ahead but my empty stomach going on three days, tells me to shut it. 

There are no zombies we come across, a rare blessing and no signs of any recent humans. 

I step into the first building that seems even slightly promising and find an old cereal bar in a receptionist’s desk. Wasting no time I rip it open going for a bite. It’s hard as rock. I keep the end of it in my mouth hopping eventually my saliva will soften it up. 

Back on the street I start my loose perimeter of Tiger, managing finally to take a bite. My number one issue taken care of I turn my attention to my routine duties. 

The first few zombies were easy to take out but with each one I did, it seemed as though another one joined the fray, an endless stream coming from seemingly nowhere. After the tenth, fatigue starts to hit me and I make the decision to run for it. Through the streets, in and out of buildings, I can’t lose them. I try to stay away from the area I know Tiger’s in. 

I run through a store, their closing in, I dash for a rear exit, the door opens easily but what greets me on the other side isn’t the emptiness I was hoping for. More zombies there placid, wandering erupting into hungry excitement. My stomach drops. 

Hands grab and scratch at my back, quickly joined by the zombies in front of me. I twist, push and punch anything to get them off me. Nails and teeth draw blood, pain searing across my body as they pull off chunks of my flesh. I fling myself to the ground, dislodging most of them. Rolling and kicking gets the rest. They furiously try to grab me again as I crawl between them. I’m up on my feet; staggering, dizzy. As soon as I can I make a break for staircase. 

I manage to make it to the roof and jump to the next building over. I almost don’t make it, grasping the side of the roof for dear life I manage pull myself up. Everything’s screaming at me, I don’t even need to look at my injuries to know I’m fucked. 

A sob catches in my throat as the furious grunts and groans give way to wet splats as my pursuers try to get to me. Fuck. I could stay here, the zombies can’t seem to make it, and wait to turn. Or I look to my bag; to the weapons it holds, I can end it now. It seems the better option than becoming one of those things. My vision clouds with tears as I reach for my knife. I’ll go out on my terms. Fuck those things I won’t become one, I won’t. I almost have the knife in position. 

Tiger. 

He flashes in my mind. I want to see him, make sure he’s safe… one last time. 

There’s a bridge connecting the one I’m on to a building across the street. I take it, and stick to the roof tops, using fire escapes as I need them. 

There he is safe and in one piece, looking for the next building to search. 

Relief starts to sink in when movement catches my eye. I move to get better look. A hoard; a giant one at least four hundred strong, mere blocks from Tiger, and he’s, he’s heading in their direction. No. No, no, no, not like this. 

Quickly I go through my bag and grab anything I can to make as much noise as possible. I drop my duffel. I have no use for it anymore. 

I race to get to the hoard before him. 

I’m on the far side of it when I fire the first shot. It echoes off the buildings followed by the second. I lead them away from Tiger; he’s probably heading as far away from the noise, as fast as he can. 

Eventually I’m forced to the ground. Gun empty it toss it, next is fire crackers I had found hidden in my bag. I have a foggy memory of hiding them in there when i was still a child. I throw them in front of me as they go off. The zombies are deafening as they chase after me. Fire crackers exhausted I’m left with an aluminum bat. I hit everything in reach; vibration shooting through my arms, and in the air. 

Their hands claw at my flesh again, fingers digging into my wounds and I know I won’t last much longer. I just hope I was able to do enough, that Tiger got away. 

I burst through a side door fixing the dead bolt behind me. Agony griping my entire being. I catch myself on the far wall. The cereal bar from earlier escaping my guts. The banging on the door echoes through the small room and my head as they try to get in. My head spins and my feet are no longer under me. A pain riddled groan escapes me as I collapse to the ground. The world goes black. 

* * *

Hunger. All consuming. It forces me to my feet. Everything’s blurry but the room I’m in has been torn apart. Door to outside, to cool air in pieces. 

I stumble out and smell, nothing. I wander. Moving bodies that don’t smell of food cross my path, I pay them no mind. Tall structures and cool shadows give way to smaller ones. Bright light in sky has disappeared by time I’m on level ground. Light invisible pressure resists my movements and carries the smell of food. I change direction, moving toward it. 

A dim light rests on the ground flickering, barely illuminating the prone form. The source of the smell. Food. 

I’m almost upon it. The flesh shifts. An odd scent joins the air. My hand rests on a pool of late time sky light, it soft, compared to rest of ground. Teeth, almost to its flesh. I freeze, something stops me. I stay like that for a while. Dim light in black sky is over head. I get up. 

A moving body approaches, one not smelling of delicious flesh approaches. I pay it no heed. I continue to watch the living flesh. New comer passes me to get closer to it. New comer reaches out to eat. Something erupts in me and I yank it away; clawing, hitting and biting till it stops moving. Flesh is **mine**. Looking to it, it has not moved. Good. I drag the corpse away. It is too close to **my food**.

* * *

**My food** does not stay long after bright light is back in sky. It grabs things off ground and begins wandering. I follow at distance. If I get to close it begins to move weird. Same if the invisible pressure pushes me towards it. So I walk by the side that has the most pressure pushing me away from food. I don’t like it, but I can constantly smell it. 

* * *

In weird structures that cast long shadows, it picks up strange objects and stows them away. Collecting a fair amount before it leaves to its ground light. When it comes across moving flesh-less it kills them. I keep a farther distance. 

Sometimes I move the objects it will pick up into piles in structures it hasn’t but will likely enter. 

When flesh-less get to close to **my food** , and it does not notice I kill them too. Occasionally I come across other food too, nothing tells me to not eat so I do. 

On even rarer occasions when I follow the smell of food it leads me to rooms with lots of objects in them. The living food doesn’t put up much of a fight. I move the bodies out, make sure they won’t start moving again and herd **my food** to the rooms. 

It spends many changes of lights in them. Locked behind a tightly closed barrier, but that ok. There is only one way in or out. It gives me lots of time to enjoy my meal, camped outside. Keeping my **my food** from any other flesh-less that wanders too close. 

* * *

The bright light stays in the sky first for longer times, then shorter, when the dim light raises in the sky a thin layer of cold crystals form on my body and surrounding landscape. White ground that came from the sky slows me down. I lose sight of **my food**. But as long as I can smell it in the air I trudge on. 

Bright light and its warmth return for longer periods of time bringing falling water. I catch up to **my food** after many cycles. The first time I have seen it in so long I am filled with… something. **My food** is still alive, and in one piece. I was concerned (?) for it. 

It spends time with other food it comes across, sometimes it is brief, others it is many cycles. I leave the other food alone. I don’t want to upset (?) **my food**. Though sometimes the others take **my food** objects when it is not around. I cannot stop myself from ripping into their flesh and feasting till I am full. They won’t move again so I leave them were they fell. **My food** seems sad (?) when it finds them, and quickly grabs its objects and leaves. 

Hoards get close. When large ones come I steer **my food** away, sometimes when it won’t move I can lead the other flesh-less away, provided they haven’t caught the scent of **my food** yet. 

I’ll slip into the smaller hoards, if they pass without becoming aware of **my food**. I leave them be. But if they get to close, and refuse to change direction, I kill them. They don’t really notice me so they don’t really put up a fight. 

* * *

We’ve made it to large rocky hills when **my food** is joined by another. This one’s even bigger and makes my mouth water, it is covered in dark and has come across **my food’s** path many times before. Always staying many cycles before leaving again. They had gone up in rocky hills this bright light in sky. When I had noticed a small group of flesh-less heading in their direction. I join, my intervention may be required. 

* * *

The night is blessingly cool as I finish my prayers for the day. Cautiously I stoke the fire, adding enough wood to keep it going for a few hours unattended. Wiping my hands as clean as possible I carefully unwrap my Hijab and fold it neatly. I place it on one of my bags by my sleeping bag. “Holy shit!” Midnighter as he decided he wanted to be called, breaks the serine quiet. 

“What?” I look to him as I remove my shoes. 

“That is one persistent fucker!” He hands me the binoculars he’s using. 

“Which one?” There’s a hoard still a fair distance away. 

“The one in the blue tights and a brown jacket.” I look for it. It’s not as decomposed as the others surrounding it, but something about it seems familiar. 

Blue leotard with a baby blue ‘G’ on the chest, brown leather jacket, sneakers, and long black hair. Geez, a sigh escapes me. _How long had he lasted after I saved his life?_ Regret sits heavy in my stomach, I should have stayed longer, at least long enough to make sure he could make it on his own. “It’s been following you at least since Missouri.” He reaches for his sniper rifle and something itches in my brain. 

Long black hair swaying in the breeze as water is poured down my parched throat, flashes of blue disappearing behind buildings. Oddly concentrated supplies, the sounds of fighting close by, but nothing as a source the few times I tried to investigate. Supplies showing up in my bags that I was sure I never picked up. 

Freshly spilled blood in unoccupied bunkers, zombies closing in. 

There’s something else trying to break through. Him terrified and huddled in a blocked off cellar, tears damp on his face. A sweet smile lighting up his face as he thanked me. “I’ll get him.” An utterly ridiculous name he tried to tell me. A large duffel squashed to his side, Haly’s something embroidered on the side, the bag is familiar. It’s not on the zombie. 

I look to Midnighters belongings and there. A large worn duffel bag; Haly’s Circus embroidered on the side and two bright blue bungee cords wrapped around it. When and where had he picked it up? 

Midnighters finishes loading the gun, clicks the safety off and aims. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might expand this and change somethings for a multi chapter story.


End file.
